Then out he hurled, decamping with the rugs.
That's his way too; something must be done.
Quick, run and call my patron Cleon here
O, if you meet him, call Hyperbolus!
We'll pay you out to-day.
O filthy throat,
O how I'd like to take a stone, and hack
Those grinders out with which you chawed my wares.
I'd like to pitch you in the deadman's pit.
I'd like to get a reaping-hook and scoop
That gullet out with which you gorged my tripe.
But I'll to Cleon: he'll soon serve his writs;
He'll twist it out of you to-day, he will.
Exeunt HOSTESS and PLATHANE.
Perdition seize me, if I don't love Xanthias.
Aye, aye, I know your drift: stop, stop that talking
I won't be Heracles.
O, don't say so,
Dear, darling Xanthias.
Why, how can I,
A slave, a mortal, act Alemena's son!
Aye, aye, I know you are vexed, and I deserve
And if you pummel me, I won't complain.
But if I strip you of these togs again,
Perdition seize myself, my wife, my children,
And, most of all, that blear-eyed Archedemus.
That oath contents me: on those terms I take them.
Now that at last you appear once more,
Wearing the garb that at first you wore,
Wielding the club and the tawny skin,
Now it is yours to be up and doing,
Glaring like mad, and your youth renewing,
Mindful of him whose guise you are in.
If, when caught in a bit of a scrape, you
Suffer a word of alarm to escape you,
Showing yourself but a feckless knave,
Then will your master at once undrape you,
Then you'll again be the toiling slave.
There, I admit, you have given to me
Capital hint, and the like idea,
Friends, had occurred to myself before.
Truly if anything good befell
He would be wanting, I know full well,
Wanting to take to the togs once more.
Nevertheless, while in these I'm vested,
Ne'er shall you find me craven-crested,
No, for a dittany look I'll wear,
Aye and methinks it will soon be tested,
Hark! how the portals are rustling there.
Re-enter AEACUS with assistants.